


Every Scar Is A Story I Can Tell

by revenblue



Series: [collection] but you keep spinning 'round me just the same [15]
Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, POV Second Person, Scar Survey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 03:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13309635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revenblue/pseuds/revenblue
Summary: we all fall downwe live somehowwe learn what doesn't kill us makes us stronger





	Every Scar Is A Story I Can Tell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tafferling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tafferling/gifts).



> This is all because Taff not-so-subtly hinted at scar surveys :P

It's strange, almost, to use the key he gave you. After all the times you've shown up and kicked down the door because you couldn't afford to waste time when stopping evil, using a key feels strange. Then again, he's expecting you.

(Then again, he's never _not_ expected you.)

He's lying flat on the bed when you walk in, arms tucked under his head. Not asleep, you know him well enough to tell, just dozing comfortably in a patch of sunlight coming in from the window. If you'd ever doubted he was raised by ocelots, this would have convinced you. Not that you ever did doubt him, really. You've never known him to _lie_. Stretch the truth sometimes, yes, but he's never outright lied to you. More the opposite, he's admitted to things most people you know would lie about.

You climb onto the bed via the shelves beside it, careful not to disturb him. It's not often that you see him relaxing at all, he's always moving from task to task like his backstories will catch up with him if he stops. Not that you can blame him. The few you've heard (and you know it's only a few, even though he's never said so) are haunting enough when you think about them.

The shadow of a bird flits across his bare shoulders, drawing your attention to a nasty-looking scar curving around from his shoulder blade to under his armpit. You wince at the sight, wondering what could have happened to cause it. Which of his backstories it was. Whether it's one he's mentioned before. There's still so many you haven't heard, even after all this time.

It's not that you haven't seen his scars before, you have, you were just _preoccupied_ at the time. Thwarting didn't leave much room for learning all the patchwork patterns on his skin, the places where the shape of his past can be seen most clearly. You run a finger along one of them, lightly, tracing a path down his back.

Do any of them bother him, aching at night like some of yours do? He's never admitted as much, but you still remember the time you'd been fighting him and hit something that left him curled up on the floor with tears streaming down his face. He'd said it was fine, that you shouldn't worry, and yet you couldn't help but notice the way he'd walked stiffly for a few days afterwards anyway.

"Mother threw a pot at me," he says suddenly, and you jump. "For falling asleep at the dinner table."

The worst part is, you think, that he says it like it was _normal_. You chirr at him, resting your paws on his skin. What kind of parent could hurt their child like that?

He lifts his head, turning to look at you. "Don't worry, Perry the Platypus, I'm not _mad_ at her for it. It was my fault. I should have-"

You hold up a paw. Whatever had happened that day, it was _not_ his fault. None of it.

"I know," he says with a sigh, pulling his arms closer so he can lean on his elbows. "Shouldn't blame myself for everything, you've told me a million times. It's just... it's hard, you know? Everything was so much _simpler_ before. I knew where I stood. Now... I just don't know."

How do you even respond to that? What can you do, but press yourself against him so he knows he's not alone. He'll never feel that deep aching loneliness again if you have any say in the matter. You won't do that to him.

A sob rattles in his chest, the sound achingly familiar from all the times you've had to hold him together, both as a nemesis and as whatever you are to him now. You're not sure what that is; you've never asked. (You're afraid of the answer.) But it doesn't matter.

What matters is the way his hand sought out your paw to hold tight like a lifeline. What matters is that neither of you had to _look_. What matters is him, here with you.

Sometimes you think about how close you've been to losing him, all the close calls you've had. They've left their mark too, on his skin and in the way you can't stop touching him, reassuring yourself he's still here, because you may be his rock but that doesn't mean he's not yours.

You run a thumb over his fingers, the scars he painstakingly replicated with his latest set of arms. Some of them are new, like the one across the pad of his finger where he'd sliced it open last week chopping carrots. Others are older, like the one he'd said was a doonkleberry bat bite. You know if he wanted to he could get rid of them all, start fresh, but you understand why he wouldn't. They're not just an imperfection, they're a symbol of all he's gone through, all he's survived. A reason to keep going, because he's come too far to let anything stop him.

He's never said as much, but for a man who never stops talking there's a lot he doesn't say, a lot he _can't_ say. You've had to learn how to read between the lines, to hear what he's not saying but desperately wishes he could.

It's difficult at times, but his smile when you get it right is worth all the effort to get there.

He slumps forward with a sigh, free hand stretched out over his head. "Only Son," he says, as your thumb brushes over another scar, a tiny divot at the base of his thumb. "It was so cold that night, you know how sometimes it feels like your bones are freezing? That's how cold it was. All I had on was the lawn gnome costume, you remember that backstory, and I didn't want to _freeze_ so I tried to climb into his kennel, because it had to be better than nothing, right? Except..." The fingers around your paw twitch. "He didn't like that."

That's all he needs to say. You can fill in the rest yourself, and it's not pleasant to think about. The smallest backstories never are, but he's gone through so much in his life that it's like they don't even register as anything but _ordinary_.

There's a kind of sadness in that, you think.

Without letting go of his hand, you shuffle up until you can nudge your bill against his nose in a way you know he still considers _anything but_ ordinary. Which is heartbreaking, in its own way.

"Thank you, Perry the Platypus," he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. It's not what he wants to say, you know him well enough to know that, but you can hear the words he can't say just as well as the ones he can.

Absently, you trace your paw along another scar on his jaw, one so faint it's barely there at all. You wouldn't even know it existed if you hadn't looked, on your quest to map out all the scars outlining his past, to learn the shapes they made. (More lines to read between.)

He rolls onto his side, the corner of his mouth turned up in an easy smile. "I was building my Bread-inator, you remember that one, don't you? And my hand slipped. Smacked myself in the jaw and everything. Completely forgot it happened until just now, actually." His voice is brighter now, with a memory you know doesn't haunt him the way most of them do, and you can't help but smile back at him.

Without warning, his free arm curls around you and pulls you tight against him. A gentle rumble emnates from his chest, more felt than heard, while he whispers a "trapped you, Perry the Platypus". You had no idea he could _purr_. It's a relaxing sound, and you think if you wanted to you could fall asleep to it.

Right now, tucked against him, you want to.

**Author's Note:**

> I, er, can't tell if this is T or if it'd be fine as G. (So if anyone could explain the line in a way that doesn't reference ages, because my view of age-appropriate is kinda a mess, that'd be great.)
> 
> Title and summary both come from [Sharp Edges](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5Ni_LskhFc) by Linkin Park.  
> (Fun fact: this was originally going to be named after Castle of Glass instead, before [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13201056) happened XD)
> 
> ...There's a lot more that can be done with this concept, tbh. I'm not saying I'll write sequels, but the potential's there (if I wrangle enough plot bunnies first).
> 
> As always, [Perryshmirtz server](https://discord.gg/eEhRMq3) is a thing. ;)


End file.
